


fourteen

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If his life had been so quick to change with a far-fetched miracle of modern science, Steve had also been aware that at any instant, well…reality might decide to snap back into proper sense and take it all back.</p><p>Being small again absolutely bites but lying here in their bed, fitted neatly under Bucky’s chin with his feet tangled warmly around Bucky’s legs feels very homey. He likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fourteen

The one thing that he likes about this, Steve has to admit, is the feeling of Bucky’s arms wrapped all the way ‘round him like a woolen sweater. Being small again absolutely bites but lying here in their bed, fitted neatly under Bucky’s chin with his feet tangled warmly around Bucky’s legs feels very homey. He likes it.

Truth to tell, in Steve’s own mind he would still often think of himself as that little guy with the trash can lid gripped tight under knuckles stained with blood and charcoal. On idle days when he’d take their retriever, Dodger, on walks in McCarren Park, he would sometimes find his mind wandering off into the almosts, what-ifs and could-have-beens of any failure on the part of the serum. If his life had been so quick to change with a far-fetched miracle of modern science, Steve had also been aware that at any instant, well…reality might decide to snap back into proper sense and take it all back.

And so, it doesn’t really come as a surprise to find himself stuck in bed, sick with one -itis or the other, with a rattle in his chest and an offbeat pulse again. The prescription inhaler on the dresser was a new addition to the picture. That was a marvel of the twenty first century, and Steve figures if he’s gotta do this again, the minor upside is that he can do it with seventy plus years of healthcare advancement behind him.

Steve feels an itch in his throat, and clears it with a short, gruff wheeze. Bucky shifts minutely at the sound, and Steve squints to make out the blurry sight of his sleeping face in the dark. It’s peaceful, for once, and isn’t that the other marvel of the twenty first century. This, they never got to do before the war, nor during the war, but somehow, after the blood, the sweat, the tears and the bullets, here they lay decades later, two boys from Brooklyn under the remains of a haphazard blanket fort.

If the awkward, gawky, fourteen year old Steve only knew, he might have saved himself from the guilty, heavy pangs in his chest at every lingering glance he had stolen of Bucky. Bucky who, at fifteen, had shot up like a weed and who could fill out his Sunday best to sharp perfection. Bucky who, by sixteen, had learned to carry himself with a swagger and charm adopted from sneaking into too many Astaire and Gable pictures. Bucky who, by seventeen, had filled up pages and pages of Steve’s middle school and early high school sketchbooks before Steve’d finally had enough. His course of action for this particular problem had been simple and—as Steve had learned—relevant to all facets of his life: Disregard the pain.

But the kicker, Steve supposes, is how little he feels like taking his own advice at this specific juncture. Lately, Steve looks in the mirror and all he wants to do is scream and rip himself out of his chest. Wants to isolate that goddamn serum-blocking nanovirus himself and bring autonomy back to his own body. He’s supposed to wait this out, they say. There’s nothing he can do but lie down and rely on science to save his ass once again. It’s only been a week and his bones have already settled back into their disjointed routine, like wearing an old, ill-fitting coat; Steve feels an unpleasant but familiar ache all over and there’s nothing he can do but let it happen.

Steve coughs, and coughs again, suppressing the sound so as not to wake Bucky, but he’s thanked for his trouble with an all out coughing fit. Next thing he knows, the lights are on, Bucky’s up, and he’s arranged Steve’s posture so he’s sitting up straight with his back resting against Bucky’s chest. The coughing’s stopped, the convulsions gone. Bucky rubs small circles into the soft inside of Steve’s wrist and whispers soothing nonsense into his ear. Steve twists his head around to meet his eyes, and suddenly Steve feels another pang in his chest, not for the cough but for the stricken look on Bucky’s face. First peaceful night’s Bucky had in awhile and he’s gone and ruined it.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, throat sore. The crease in Bucky’s brow deepens.

“Don’t gimme that look, Barnes,” Steve says, wrestling out of Bucky’s grip and repositioning himself to glare at him, face to face. His tone is too abrasive, Steve knows, but he’s seen nothing but that Look everywhere he’s gone. He can’t pass through one floor, one room even, of Avengers Tower without someone or other giving him the Look of Shock and Alarm before they quickly rearrange their features into simpering Pity and Concern.

Steve sets his jaw and continues, “When I say I’m fine, I’m fine.”

At that, Bucky cracks a smile. “Wasn’t concerned about the cough.” Bucky says, “Just concerned about you walking around in public with all that stupid on your face is all” and Steve remembers exactly why he loves this idiot.

“Well, you know, everyone seems pretty keen on informing me just how ‘susceptible to infection’ I am right now,” Steve says, flatly, “They must have been on to something, ‘cuz I must have caught the stupid from you.”

Bucky snorts, and settles himself back into the pillows. “Get your ass back under the covers, Rogers. Some of us are actually trying to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Yeah, Buck, you need all the beauty rest you can get,” Steve says, and he feels a little ridiculous because god knows that’s not even a little bit true and between the two of them, it’s obvious who actually needs help in the looks department. He’s about to vocalize this thought, but then he’s pulled back under the covers with a playful tug around his middle. Bucky presses warm kisses to Steve’s jaw, under his ear, beside his mouth, and then finally on his lips. Steve melts a little bit, feeling himself go red in the face.

“Could get all the beauty rest in the world,” Bucky says, as he presses kisses across Steve’s collar bone, his shoulder. “And I still wouldn’t be able to compare to you, doll.”

“Sap,” Steve says, breathless under Bucky’s touch. “You write that yourself, or are you stealing lines from some romance picture on the Netflix queue?”

“What, you think I’m lying, Rogers?” Bucky says, reaching over to turn off the lights. They resettle their positions for sleep, Steve’s back against Bucky’s front. “I’m hurt.” Bucky continues, as he arranges his arms around Steve’s waist.

Steve tuts and rolls his eyes, “Coming from Mr. Dated-Every-Dame-in-Brooklyn over here. I appreciate the flattery.”

“Yeah, with those eyes though?” Bucky says into his good ear. Steve shivers at the sound. “Mr. _Should_ -Have-Dated-Every-Dame-in-Brooklyn-If-They-Weren’t-All-Blind, easy.”

And Steve knows Bucky’s just being corny and silly, but he feels butterflies explode in his stomach. In the darkness of their bedroom, Steve can almost imagine he’s in another Brooklyn in another century, and scrawny little Steve Rogers has finally, finally amassed enough courage from every alleyway brawl he’s ever been in to tell Bucky Barnes just how sweet on him he really is.

“Quit it, Buck,” Steve says, kicking back at Bucky’s shin. He feels himself going even redder, as a pleasing feeling settles warm in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Bucky’s lying for his sake, but it’s a nice lie all the same.

“It’s true though,” Bucky goes on, squeezing Steve tighter with his right arm. His left, Steve notices, remains carefully still. “Best eyes in all of Brooklyn. Lashes longer than any dame’s.”

“Ugh. Buck, come on.”

“And that mouth of yours,” Bucky says, hot breath tickling Steve’s neck, “Pretty lips that won’t shut up for anyone—”

“I’ll shut _you_ up, Barnes,” Steve says, before whirling around and kissing him full on the mouth. Bucky’s breath hitches in surprise, and Steve deepens the kiss, lacing his own fingers through Bucky’s metal ones. He can feel Bucky’s smile on his own lips, before Steve pulls away, breathless. They stay there for a moment, the kiss lingering, buzzing between them, with hands still tangled together.

It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but it’s also everything they haven’t done before.

“Always wanted to kiss you, like this, y’know,” Bucky says, a soft confession. Even with his terrible vision and the dark of the room, Steve sees how Bucky ducks his head, suddenly shy, “I mean. In my mind, I always imagined you small when we…if we…”

Steve’s quiet for a moment. “Didn’t think you liked me that way back then. Thought it might have come on way after the fact,” he says, finally.

And because he’s got him here, Steve asks, “How long?”

He feels Bucky shift, sees the flash of his grin—involuntary like he’s remembering something fond and can’t help but smile. Bucky brings Steve’s hand up and presses a soft kiss to his palm.

“We were fourteen,” Bucky says, “After that scrap with McKimmons’ whole crew ‘round Lorimer. Beat us both nearly to bloody pulp, but we got outta there through the grace of—I dunno—Jesus, Mary, Joseph and every angel put together. Stopped to catch our breath, and it wasn’t even funny how bad that scrap was, but you and me just busted a gut laughing right then and there. How lucky could two sonovabitches get, y’know? And your goddamn hair was always in your face. But, I just had this impulse, this sudden impulse to brush it out of the way for you. And it was just… _shit_ those eyes, Stevie."

Bucky pauses, and if Steve wasn’t flushed to maximum scarlet before, he was now.

"Realized then I wasn’t looking hard enough," Bucky continues softly, "And from then on, I just started noticing the rest of you.”

Before Steve can even formulate a coherent response, Bucky leans in closer, and whispers:

“Aw, babydoll, don’t blush. You know I stole that whole spiel from a romance picture on Netflix.”

Steve snorts inelegantly, and elbows Bucky in the arm. “Shut it, Barnes. Can’t get out of that one—McKimmons was fucking terrifying.” And then he softens, lifts his hand to cup Bucky’s cheek. “So. Since you were fourteen, huh?”

Bucky ducks his head again. “You really gonna make me repeat myself, Rogers?”

“So. Missed your chance before the serum,” Steve says, drawing in even closer, cupping Bucky’s other cheek, and pressing into his chest. The little bit of moonlight peeking through the curtains illuminates the glint in Steve’s eye, and it’s Bucky’s turn to go red.

“You gonna miss it again, Buck?”

Neither of them got much beauty rest that night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Super self indulgent de-serum Steve fluff. Hope you enjoyed. <3


End file.
